Long Nights
by Faintly Falling
Summary: The none-too-exciting story of how the epic friendship of Tom and Sebs really began, at least in Sebs' eyes. Warning: Bromance ahead.


Sebs (it came out so naturally now, 'Sebs', as if he'd always answered to it) had found himself getting closer to Tom, despite his complete lack of effort in doing so. Not that he objected to Tom, or anything of the sort. Sure, he came on a little strong and he was a little too friendly and he seemed capable of _feeling _way more than any human person should be but he was, essentially, a good guy. It wasn't much, objectively speaking; a movie (or three) on a Saturday, a phone call or a text message, a (and these were getting more frequent) surprise visit from Tom…He'd been largely indifferent at first, and just the tiniest bit weirded-out, but he realized that he'd liked Tom, or at least felt bad for him. And besides, it was (_say it_) nice to have someone around every once in a while.

Even if that someone reminded him irresistibly of a lost street puppy.

It was Saturday night again (weeks seemed to be moving faster anymore) and it was time to do…something. Hanging out with Tom had become more of an unspoken agreement in these past few weeks, somewhat to Sebs' surprise. A pleasant surprise but a surprise nonetheless. It wasn't as if Sebs had anything better to do, a fact that he'd readily admit, but he couldn't help but feel like this was all moving a little too fast. He felt a stubborn craving for the freedom of the alone time he'd had originally, the solitary dependability of not having to take someone else's plans into account (and not having someone else with plans). He wasn't scared (he told himself emphatically), he was just used to having a certain level of autonomy, that's all. All in all, what he had with Tom wasn't bad, it just left him...itching.

It wasn't an issue, really, and Sebs definitely wasn't going to bring it up with Tom, even if it had been. The guy seemed to be by turns breakable and completely feral. Not that he was afraid of Tom; just…you pick your battles.

Sebs was just trying to adjust to the idea that he now had Somebody when he was so used to Nobody and that might just take awhile.

Tom had taken up his usual place on the couch, twisted into some uncomfortable position that would make any normal person stiff with pins and needles. Sebs was becoming bored with the immobile atmosphere of the room, a stuffy, mildly suffocating laziness that irked and pawed for its own disruption.

"We need to go somewhere," He announced, as if 'somewhere' was a destination, "there's nothing to do tonight."

Tom picked his head up only enough to make his words audible.

"You have somewhere in mind?"

"We could just go…out."

"'Out'? Where?"

"Just, you know, out." He emphasized the word, making the definition clear. He wasn't sure how he'd settled on this, but suddenly it seemed like a ridiculously attractive option.

"Out. Why?"

"It's a change of pace…"

It was something so normal, something he'd never really participated in outside of co-worker based packs or the occasional group migration in high school. The night he'd met Tom had been something of an aberration, an attempt to 'enjoy' some level of public atmosphere in a pattern of increasing distance and disillusion. He hadn't been drinking much, even for him. That was reserved for the privacy of his own turf.

Tom's eyes narrow with memory and Sebs is starting to feel like maybe he should have considered the appropriate-factor of this proposal when the storm passes and Tom agrees.

"Sure, why not?"

They set out with an odd sense of purpose, as if they know exactly what they're looking for, despite not having a clue. The streets were suddenly studded with bars of all sizes and types; loud, quite, dark, lit, sleazy, expensive, divey, clubby...

They settle on a relatively small, relatively quiet place with some contrived name and a probably equally contrived history posted on a rendered sign outside. Tom found the atmosphere intriguing and Sebs couldn't imagine it being too offensive to the senses. It's got a warm atmosphere, all dark wood and reds and greens. It's relatively clean and well lit and such a change from last time that it's almost funny. Almost.

After some awkward fumbling, they settle on sitting at the bar itself since neither of them has any desire for food.

"So , you do this often?" Sebs asked, internally wincing at how much of a 'line' it sounded.

"Not really. I mean, I've done it. But I don't _do _it. You know?"

"I think so."

Annoyance flitted on Tom's face like he thought Sebs was making fun of him but he didn't say anything about it.

"What about you?"

"I have. You know those times when you just have to?"

"I guess."

"It's not my favorite past time. I think it depends on the company, you know?"

Tom gave him a scrutinizing look.

"I think so."

Sebs didn't scare easily but Tom had this way of convincing you that he's looking right through you and no matter how much you tried, you couldn't shake just the slightest doubt that maybe he was.

Sebs chose to ignore it and pretended to read the board of drafts instead, entertaining a sudden craving that it prompted. Beer didn't make him feel great, he'd learned that sometime back. It put him under pretty quickly too...

He didn't hear what Tom had chosen, too busy considering the possibilities, feeling darkly satisfied with the route he's on.

Sebs didn't quite know if he'd made it past 'a lot even for him' to 'a lot, period'. Heh. Period. It was a weird word. Way too much 'e'. They'd been laughing and talking for awhile but Tom had started looking at him funny ever since his posture had started to slack and his words had gotten way too loud and wrongly spaced. Tom's been drinking a lot too, though. A lot of...whatever the fuck...and he's in no position to be a judge of character.

To judge character.

This isn't character.

Whatever.

Point is, Sebs has heard himself getting drunker and louder and Tom's been getting more uppity about it. He hadn't said anything directly but Sebs could tell he was bothered. He's drunk, not stupid. His words are winding down, he's not really saying anything anyway, mostly laughing too much and giving responses that aren't even close to the mark. Sebs didn't plan this, not exactly. It started with the one beer, a morbid bid(_morbid bid, morbidbid..._) for...he doesn't know. Some kind of middle finger to himself, he thought. He realized that he'd never been drunk in front of anyone before, not anyone who knew him. And _really _not this drunk.

_Congrats, Tom. You got my drunk-ginity. _

Learning his limits early had allowed him to learn the tricks to make it look like you're drinking more than you are, how to keep his already tenuous grip on reality when engaged in social drinking.

Tonight he had bared it all, maybe just thinking that Tom would leave him to deal with his own idiocy(_he's used to taking care of his own idiocy_) or get fed up enough to bail, permanent-like.

Tom was still here, so far, though his future recurrence seemed dubious.

Heh. Dubious. Not even touching that one.

His head and arms felt leaden, his body was becoming more unwilling to hold itself up. Telling social conventions to go fuck themselves, he folded his arms on top of the cold, slick wood and bowed his head into them, fairly certain he never wanted to get up again.

Moving was so overrated.

His respite didn't last long. Before long someone was pulling at his arm, dragging him off the stool despite his best efforts to stay on. In all fairness, he was too limp to really do much but it's the thought that counts.

It's Tom. Tom was dragging him.

Tom let go after pushing him through the door. The cold air was like a million tiny knives stinging his eyes and pinching his skin. Like it or not, he was awake enough now to walk on his own and so he did. Sort of.

Sebs moved forward as best he could, alternating between pitching and stumbling.

Dignified stumbling. Totally.

Tom was moving slower for sure but his movements were no less confident, a state that Sebs was suddenly quite envious of. Or maybe he's not. Maybe Sebs is too drunk to tell. He doesn't care.

Little rat bastard's totally showing him up on purpose.

Fucker.

Sebs swallowed. His stomach contents felt like acrid or acid or some shit like that.

He moved his tongue around in his mouth and realizes that it's gotten like ten times heavier. And more painful. It's like...arid. He thought about that nasty, cheap deodorant and determined that's a pretty good yardstick for how his mouth feels. As long as his tongue doesn't start flaking off. That would suck. If he had no tongue, he wouldn't be able to talk. Then he'd have to learn, like, sign language or some shit.

Like Koko the gorilla.

They seemed to have formed some unspoken agreement to go to Tom's apartment which was good since Sebs' tongue was now gross crumbly chunks of white shit.

Or something.

Fuck.

Whatever. Tom's apartment is closer and Sebs really doesn't feel like getting intimate with the pavement. Or his stomach contents. Which probably taste like acid. Yeah, acid. That's what he was trying to say.

He thanked The Mighty Whoever when the familiar doors finally slide into focus and he figures that he can refrain from pavement kissing and projectile vomit for a while longer at least.

Tom opened the door which is good because Sebs' limbs are so useless that he's not even sure they're still there...Oh damn, okay, not doing that again. Sebs thought he was in the home stretch until...what the fuck, whose idea were stairs, anyway? They went on for-fucking-ever and who needs that shit?

They were tedious and slow-going for both of them but Tom was ahead of him a little.

All of a sudden, Sebs felt the rhythmic tap of his foot to ground end when he hit empty air and the nausea mounted in his stomach along with a second of fear; a holy shit, who moved the stair, when he felt pressure, a tug, somewhere under his armpit and _he's not on the ground _and suddenly he was on the second step to the top and Tom was forcing the stubborn key into the door.

Tom made it to the vague middle of his darkened living room before passing out, miraculously not banging his head on anything.

Dull instinctive fear of _this isn't supposed to happen_ eked into Sebs' blurry mind and he made his way over to Tom, unsure of what to do. He knelt down next to him, checking for signs of life. He was definitely breathing, an irregularly patterned breathing that might have resembled a normal person's snore. Sebs had to admit that he's seen blackout drunk before and this isn't it. This isn't oblivion, this is just plain old sleep.

Tom has possibly the strangest reaction to alcohol he's ever seen and somehow that was the least unexpected thing about tonight. Sebs wanted to say thank you. Or something. But Tom was lacking in consciousness at the moment and Sebs could feel his own will to do anything leaving him. He slid into a sitting position, Indian-style, back to Tom, leaning ever so slightly against the body of his unconscious friend and found himself vacillating into sleep. The fear of moments ago had had a sobering effect and Sebs thought that it felt presumptuous to move around in Tom's house while he was asleep. And anyway, he wasn't sure that he had the energy or the desire to raise himself to his feet. He stared into the night, mind filled with the deafening buzz of _so awake_, feeling the bizarre pattern of Tom's breath at the base of his spine.

Sebs woke suddenly, as if from a decisive act in a nightmare or a loud noise, though he couldn't recall either. He didn't remember falling asleep and paced his mind through a quick _shit fuck where am I_ before realizing that he was in Tom's house, eyes peering into the inky blue-black of Tom's living room; the shape in the corner, Tom's dog. There was a source of warmth under his head, an oddly familiar kind of soft-firm that realized was Tom's stomach. Sebs didn't remember how he'd ended up in that position, assuming that he could have only fallen asleep sitting and slid unconsciously. He didn't feel awkward about it, though. No real embarrassment or even a desire to move. Tom's stomach was surprisingly comfortable for someone who looked so bony. It was also strangely warm, Sebs realized, practically a furnace, like all his body heat was concentrated right there. It was pleasant, nice(_comforting_) even. So warm...the blunt pounding in his head grew louder and more insistent and Sebs succumbed to the nothingness for the second time.

When Sebs finally woke up, he was taken aback by both the mosh pit going on at the bottom of his brain and the fact that his head was now on the floor; old, slightly stiff shag carpet. Rocky was lounging a few feet away open-mouth-smiling at him. Sebs propped himself up on his elbows and reached over to scratch him behind the ears. Tom noticed the movement and made his way into the living room.

"Thought you were gonna sleep all day. Hungry?" Tom held out the bowl of Fruit Loops he'd been munching on.

The smell of sugary _fake _hit Sebs' nose and his stomach recoiled.

"No, thanks. You have any coffee?"

"I think so. Maybe."

Tom rifled through the cabinet and triumphantly emerged with a brown and yellow foil packet of...something.

"What is that?"

"It's coffee," he shook it in a manner he must have thought enticing, "I mean, it's instant coffee. It's supposed to be…it was here...It's been here since I got here."

That didn't sound promising but his head felt like it had been having some intimate time with a brick wall and he was feeling the twinge of low blood sugar in his muscles so he murmured a non-committal 'thank you' and watched Tom stick a mug of water in the microwave, all the while wondering what exactly was going on. Wonder why Tom was acting like Sebs hadn't just made a huge ass of himself as well as the matter of the physical imposition, the unwitting intimacy.

He doesn't want to say anything, which of course means that he has to.

"So, about last night..."

"Yeah, that was crazy, right? I guess I know not to let you drink that much again, huh?"

**_Let me_**? Sebs would otherwise have bristled with shame at the thought of someone else implying that they need to take charge, that he couldn't or wouldn't be responsible for himself. A sniggering, undertone of _you can't handle this_. A relegation to uselessness, an insulting infantility. There was indeed a mild incredulous objection brewing somewhere inside, but he knew he had no right to it, seeing as he'd done what he'd done somewhat intentionally. There was something else too, a strange appreciation. An alien feeling of security, of being both proud and thankful that someone actually _wanted _to _care_. It was strange and yet, it was kind of nice.

Tom handed him the still-too-warm mug with a small dish towel wrapped around the handle. Sebs took a sip of the dubious beverage and winced at the bitterness; the stale, muddy-water taste permeating his mouth, but continued to drink, hoping for a placebo effect at the least.

"Thanks. I mean, for everything."

Tom waved him off vaguely.

"Don't mention it. That's what friends do, right?"

_Is it?_

"Either way, I owe you one."

"Does it matter?"

_Yes._

"What?"

"'Owing'. You get so preoccupied with stuff like that. Does it really matter?"

"I don't know. No."

"It must."

Tom fixes him with those creepy eyes and _god it'd be nice if he didn't do that ever. _

"I just don't wanna be a pain in the ass, that's all."

"You are a pain in the ass. You must know that by now."

"I am not!" That was a little more emotion than he'd intended...

"You're my pain in the ass. I'm yours. That's how this whole thing works."

Sebs had really nothing to really say that. He felt the faint heat of embarrassment but also pride, warm, soft, pride spreading through his chest. Nervous energy from surprising admission prickled the back of his neck as he searched for the words.

"Well, you're a bigger pain in the ass." He couldn't help but smile.

Tom grinned.

Sebs wasn't sure what to do now.

"So, thanks for the coffee and..." He'd put the mug down, was moving towards the exit.

"Where ya goin'?" Tom didn't sound annoyed, just curious.

"Home, I guess."

"Why?"

"I have to..." _What do I have to? _The idea of going home to sit alone by himself was far from appealing, and was becoming less so by the minute.

"Yeah?"

"Nothing. I don't really have any reason to go, I guess."

"So, you wanna just...hang out?"

"Okay. Yeah."

_Why is this so difficult? _

"Awesome. There's supposed to be a Hammer marathon on soon. Those old cheesy horror movies?"

Tom headed towards the living room.

_This simple idea..._

Tom noticed Sebs wasn't following him.

"You coming?"

_One_ _big-little word..._

"...Sure."

_Friends. _


End file.
